


The National Portrait Gallery

by orphan_account



Category: FiveThirtyEight (Blog)
Genre: I DON'T EVEN GO HERE, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-29 19:44:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10142591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Washington, D.C., circa 2006.High school teacher Jody is just trying to enjoy a lazy Saturday morning at a museum.  Of course he runs into Harry, his favorite - brilliant, beguiling, infuriatingly delightful - student.  Of course.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The premise, as dreamed up by rillrill and ipsa:
> 
> "Look if y'all aren't gonna judge me I'll tell you exactly where this went, which is that Harry's family moves to Washington when he's in his last years of high school because his dad is appointed to the SCOTUS, and he enrolls at the ritzy DC private school Jody teaches at, and Jody, who is like, 24-25, is TORTURED because not only would it be a REGULAR scandal and terrible and bad for him to get caught with a student, it's a student whose FATHER IS ON THE FUCKING SUPREME COURT, he'd be toast, his career would be nuked, he'd be done for"
> 
> So what I'm saying is, blame them.

**Washington, D.C., February 2006**

Jody walks out of the Chinatown metro to a series of buzzes coming from his pocket.  He pulls out his phone and checks the notifications. 

> **_Tina_ **
> 
> _Hey friends, sorry to bail but I’m really feeling under the weather.  Enjoy brunch!!!_  
> 
> **_Ravi_ **
> 
> _NP, turns out I can’t make it either.  Just got sent a bunch of edits to the memo I’ve been working on this week :/  Sorry Jody! Rain check for next weekend? :D_  

Jody sighs and shakes his head, unlocking his phone to tap out his reply. 

> **_Jody_ **
> 
> _You’re both awful.  Enjoy your hangovers, I’m going to come over and play loud music directly into your windows._

He pockets his phone and glances down the Metro escalator.  He supposes he could just go home.  Twenty minutes max between this street corner and his couch.  Maybe he can find a good game on ESPN Classic and grade some papers.  But since he’s already gone through the effort of getting dressed and out the door, Jody supposes he should take advantage of this unseasonably nice February weekend.   _See Mom!_ he thinks defiantly as he walks out of the Metro station, _I do things besides frisbee and work._

A block from the Metro, he finds himself staring up the steps of the National Portrait Gallery.  He’s been several times, of course - he’s a high school teacher, every museum in this city has a well-worn tread from his shoes - but it’s been awhile since he’s had the chance to really enjoy it at his own pace.  Making up his mind, he climbs the steps to the Gallery.

It’s not his favorite museum in D.C. - that would be the American History Museum, followed by the National Archives.  He also keeps walking past the construction site for the Newseum, eagerly tracking the ever-postponed opening date.  But he has a certain fondness for the National Portrait Gallery, stuffy and old-fashioned though it may be, and he really loves the inner courtyard with the greenhouse glass ceiling.  

The museum is less crowded than one would expect for a Saturday - there are a few tour groups milling about, but some of the galleries are almost empty.  Jody wanders from room to room, no real goal in mind.  He’s leaning in to read the placard next to the portrait of a little-known suffragette when someone behind him speaks up.

“Mr. Avirgan?”

Jody knows that voice.

The thing is - the thing is, Jody shouldn’t know that voice by heart.  He shouldn’t hear it in his head at the end of the day, replaying every conversation, imagining words they still haven’t spoken.  He shouldn’t hear it in his dreams, or while he - it’s not on purpose, it’s not like Jody _wants_ to hear this voice in his head all the time, but that doesn’t stop him from...well.

He turns around to see Harry Enten, backpack slung over one shoulder and head cocked to the side, a small smile on his face.  Jody’s heart, traitorous and cruel, jumps at the sight of him.

“Harry, hi!” Jody says, plastering a grin on his face, hoping his surprise (and guilt and want and trepidation) aren’t obvious.  

“Fancy meeting you here,” Harry says, hitching his backpack higher on his shoulder.  “Come to convene with our elders?" 

Jody huffs a laugh, enjoying (as he always does, damn it) Harry’s slightly dated affectations.  His tendency towards old-fashioned turns of phrases is the bane of Jody’s existence, muddling the strict lines between youth and adult, teacher and student.  “You know,” he shrugs, gesturing to the wall of portraits.  “Thought I’d visit some friends.”

Harry’s grin widens and he ducks his head.  This, also, drives Jody mad - the way Harry so clearly enjoys his presence, delights in the small crumbs of friendship Jody lets himself indulge in.  Without willing it, his imagination can fill in the blanks and paint bright, vivid pictures of how eager and pleased Harry would be in...other scenarios.

Jody turns to face a portrait at random, trying to compose himself.   _Get it together,_ he thinks angrily.  

Without discussing it they begin to walk together, wandering slowly from one room to the next.  They each meander off occasionally to check out a different portrait or photograph, but Jody feels an invisible elastic rope between them, never letting them drift too far from each other before pulling them back in.  Jody can barely focus on the placards.  He’s hyper-aware of Harry’s presence, always clocking where he is, tracking his soft footsteps.  Eventually he finds himself staring at a tall portrait of a woman in a yellow dress, without the faintest clue who she is.

Harry comes up and stands next to him, humming thoughtfully as he leans in to read the card.

“Do you come here often?” Jody asks, then forces himself not to bang his head against the wall the moment the words leave his mouth.   _Try to sound_ more _like you’re hitting on him at a bar - really, I dare you._

“A few times,” Harry says.  “I like the Civil War portraits.”

Jody chances a sideways glance at Harry, but he’s staring up at the portrait, his eyes tracing the woman’s features.  “Kind of unusual weekend plans for a high school kid,” he says, hoping he doesn’t sound too mean. 

Harry shrugs and meets Jody’s gaze.  “My friend cancelled our plans today so I had time to kill.”

“What do you know?” Jody smiles.  “Same thing with me.”

Harry hesitates, his eyes locked on Jody’s before ( _imperceptible, lightning-fast_ ) flicking down to his lips and back again.  “Well, then,” he says quietly, and Jody stops breathing.  “Looks like we’re both free today.”

 

* * *

 

“I’ve never tried this before.”

“You’ll like it, promise.”

“It looks weird.”

“Just close your eyes and try it - there you go.”

Jody grins as Harry pops a piece of sushi into his mouth and instantly grimaces.  “God, why do people enjoy that so much?” Harry asks, grabbing for his Diet Coke and taking several deep swigs.  

“All right, all right,” Jody laughs, gesturing for the waiter.  “Sushi’s not for you, I guess.”  He orders Harry some yakisoba and a refill of his soda, then drags the plate of sushi over to his side and picks up a piece with his chopsticks.  “You’ve really never tried sushi before?”

Harry shakes his head, chewing absentmindedly on his straw.  Jody tears his eyes away and stares at his food.  “I like Japanese food fine, just, you know.  Cooked.”

“I guess that’s a fair line in the sand,” Jody says, popping a piece of sashimi into his mouth.  Harry’s eyes drop to his mouth as Jody closes his lips around the chopsticks, a pink flush rising in his cheeks.

And Jody is going to go straight to hell, because he stretches the moment out, slowly sucks the fish from the wooden sticks and licks them clean.  Nothing too obvious, nothing obscene - but enough that Harry drops his eyes quickly and breathes through his nose, clearly trying to calm himself.  How much would Jody love to tease him more, watch him grow flushed and discomfited, lean against his desk in front of the class and spread his legs a little so Harry’s eyes drift downwards…

Jody clears his throat and turns away quickly, furious with himself.  To even be thinking about this is one thing, but to do it in front of Harry, to play around with him for his own kicks, it’s absolutely wrong.

“Mr. Avirgan?” Harry asks, noting Jody’s sudden distress.

“Call me Jody,” he says without thinking.  Fuck.  Where the hell did that come from?  That’s the exact opposite of what he was supposed to say.

A massive, pleased grin bursts across Harry’s face. “Sure thing - _Jody_ ,” he says, savoring the word, his eyes sparkling.  Jody couldn’t hate himself more if he tried.

Harry’s noodles eventually arrive, and Jody directs their conversation to safe topics - school (to remind them both of their actual relationship); the weather (Harry, to Jody’s frustrating delight, is happy to talk for hours about annual precipitation levels along the eastern seaboard); the Iraq War (Harry is well-informed and thoughtful, and Jody is massively screwed).  

Harry uses his given name at every opportunity.   _Jody, could you pass the soy sauce?  What do you think of that, Jody?  Let me tell you, Jody, I don’t think everyone’s thought through the broader implications for Iran._

Jody is _massively_ screwed.

The bill comes, and this is Jody’s chance.  He can end this ill-advised outing now, politely thank Harry for his company and send him on his way.  Harry will run off, pleased with this latest interaction, and Jody can go home and hate himself in peace.  

Except he opens his mouth and says, “hey, I was going to watch some old baseball games on ESPN Classic this afternoon, if you’re not busy.”

Harry’s face is pure delight as he agrees and Jody, despite his internal fury with himself, can only imagine his own matching expression.

 

* * *

 

Jody knows this is a mistake the second he invites Harry over, but he doesn’t realize how much of a fuck-up it is until Harry is settled on his couch, long legs folded under him, with an orange San Pellegrino in hand.  He had dropped his backpack and toed off his shoes the second he walked in the door, plunking right into the corner of Jody’s sectional sofa.  

In his dark grey sweatpants and thin t-shirt, he looks utterly, impossibly at home, and Jody simply stares for a minute from the kitchen, a montage flickering in front of him.  Harry, settled on the couch when Jody comes home, smiling up at him.  Harry, stretched across long section at night, falling asleep as they watch television.  Harry, carrying a couple drinks in from the kitchen and throwing his legs over Jody’s lap.  

Harry, straddling Jody.  Harry, twisting underneath Jody.  Harry, on his knees in front of Jody.

With a sharp exhale Jody turns on his heel and stalks back into the kitchen, yanking open the fridge door just to have something to do.  He stares blindly into the fridge, his hand clenched tight around the handle of the door, and focuses on breathing steadily.  

“Mr. - Jody?” Harry calls from the living room.  “The game’s starting!”

Jody closes his eyes momentarily.  “Be right there!”

Maybe he could just ask him to leave?  Invent a family emergency, remember that he has a ton of work to do, find the breaker and turn off the power in the entire apartment.  Anything, Jody thinks wildly, to put the brakes on this stupid, stupid thing he’s done.

Instead he grabs a beer at random from the fridge and walks into the living room, taking the seat at the far end of the couch from Harry.

“Oh, great, this is a good one,” he says, looking at the screen and seeing absolutely nothing.

 

* * *

 

It becomes a bit easier as the afternoon wears on, his over-excited senses adjusting to Harry’s presence little by little.  By the time the second game has started, he’s almost used to Harry’s voice piping up with bits of commentary, his legs stretched out in Jody’s direction, his little laughs when Jody speaks, even if he’s not being funny.

However, looking to his left, finding himself caught in the laser beam focus of Harry’s dark eyes - Jody’s not sure any human on earth could ever become used to that.  It’s a surprise every time, a dark, heady drink warming his chest and stomach.  Harry’s a siren, luring him to a happy drowning.

So Jody doesn’t let himself look at Harry.  Much.

He’s in the middle of a story about one of the players, a Met from the 1984 roster ( _god, was that before Harry was born?_ ), when he feels the press of a sock-covered foot against his thigh.  He looks down to see Harry’s feet right next to his leg, several inches closer than they were the last time he’d checked.

Glancing over, he sees that Harry has scooted down on the couch so he’s lying down flat, his arm pillowed beneath his head and his shirt riding up on his flat stomach.  Harry’s looking at the screen, but Jody can tell that he’s not seeing it, that he’s tracking Jody out of the corner of his eye.  

He hesitates before, every so slightly, he presses his leg into Harry’s foot.  Harry glances over.  “Sorry, am I in your space?” he asks, his eyes dark.

“No,” Jody says hoarsely.  “No, you’re fine.”

Harry smiles shyly and turns back to the tv.  He stretches a little, and Jody watches in despair as his shirt rides up a little more on his torso.  Everything about him is tactile, screaming for touch.  Jody wants to grab fistfuls of his soft sweatpants, trace the dark hair on his stomach, wrap his hands around his skinny arms and hold him still.  He wants to stretch out on top of Harry, feel his heartbeat and taste the pulse in his throat, bite the corner of his full mouth.

Harry looks back at him and lets his hand drift down his chest, settle across his belly.

Jody wants to die.

“You’ve got to go,” he says loudly, standing up.  He’s aware how panicked he sounds, can imagine how wild his eyes must be, but he has to get Harry out of his house while he still has the tiniest shred of self-control.

Harry scoots up on the couch and stares up at Jody, a confused expression on his face.  “But the game - “  he pauses and looks down, uncertainty settling over him.  “Sure, yeah.  Sorry for overstaying, Mr. Avirgan,” he says quietly.

“No, you didn’t - “ Jody starts, then forces himself to stop.  Better quit while he’s behind than risk saying something he can’t take back.  “It’s fine, Harry, really.  I’ve just got some plans tonight.”

Harry tries and fails to smile as he stands up from the couch.  “Oh right, of course.  It was really nice of you to spend today with me, Mr. Avirgan.”  Every time Harry had said his first name that day had felt like an electric shock.  This, it turns out, is even worse.

Jody forces himself to stand still as Harry gathers his things and walks to the door.  He doesn’t offer Harry help with his jacket, doesn’t shake his hand, doesn’t pat him on the back and close the door behind him.  Instead he stands in the middle of the room like an idiot, his fists clenched behind his back, until the door clicks shut behind Harry.

He has his pants halfway down his thighs and his dick in hand within seconds, and is coming less than a minute later, picturing Harry on his couch in vibrant technicolor.

 

* * *

 

Jody gets not one single lick of sleep that night. 

He finally gives up around dawn, stumbling unhappily out of bed and moving through his dark, silent apartment.  He pointedly avoids looking at the couch on his way to the kitchen, where he munches glumly on an apple while he waits for his coffee to be ready.

For lack of a better option, he pulls on his running clothes and heads out for a long run.  There’s typically nothing that clears Jody’s head like a good workout - the best option is a hard, physical game with his league, but running also does the trick - but this morning Jody feels off.  He’s in his head, even with sweat pouring down his face and his thighs burning.  Harry, it seems, is everywhere.  Chasing after him, waiting around every corner, running alongside him.  For a kid he’s known less than six months, Harry has managed to imbue himself into every crack of this city, overwriting every memory Jody had before meeting him.

His feet pound the pavement, he gulps in deep, steady breaths, and he despairs.  

Jody has always been a good person.  He knows most people believe this of themselves, but on some level he knows he’s an objectively decent person.  He cares about other people, has deep empathy and compassion, to the point that his friends lightly tease him about it.   _There goes Jody, getting all revved up about his latest cause_.  He’s kind, and polite, and he helps others because he cares about them, not because he’s supposed to.  

He turns a corner and picks up his pace, feeling his muscles burn.

The thing is, Jody could almost believe that he’s attracted to Harry despite their age difference, despite their power imbalance.  That there are versions of them who meet a few years down the road, both safely on the right side of twenty-one, and fall happily into each other.  But the hardest part about all of this, the thing that sits in the pit of Jody’s stomach and gnaws at him, is that he _likes_ it.  He likes that Harry is young and eager to please.  He likes that he’s inexperienced and without artifice.  His worst and favorite fantasies play up the teacher-student relationship - Harry asking for extra points on his test, Harry in detention, Harry taking his instruction so well ( _there, good, put your lips around it like that_ ).  The things he could teach Harry, the way he would thrive under his tutelage, grow into someone even more remarkable and dazzling…

Jody slows to a stop and bends over, hands on his knees.  This must end, he tells himself, breathing hard and unsteadily.  He doesn’t know how much more of this he can take.

He turns the corner onto his street and stops.  Harry is sitting on his front stoop.

And maybe it is just that easy.  

Jody watches Harry, still unseen from the corner where he stands.  Harry is hunched over a bit, his arms on his knees and one ankle jiggling.  His dark hair falls across his forehead, and his perfect, beautiful face is tilted up towards the lightening sky.  Jody watches Harry and without realizing it, without noticing the tiny _click_ of his decision locking into place, he makes up his mind.

Harry looks up as Jody strides towards the stoop, and an uncertain smile flickers across his face.  “Hi, morning,” he says, stumbling to his feet.  “I’m sorry for coming by so early, but I just felt like I needed to - “

His words are lost as Jody pushes him against his front door and seizes him in a bruising, demanding kiss.  Harry melts immediately, his hands wrapping around Jody’s neck and pulling him in tighter, trying to press up against every inch of Jody’s body.  Jody knows how stupid this is - making out with his _student_ who is the _son of a Supreme Court Justice_ on his _front porch_ \- but he is stupid, Harry makes him stupid, Harry with his eyes and his mouth and his hands, his hands which are currently sliding down Jody's chest and around his waist, pulling him in tight.

Jody wrenches his mouth away from Harry’s and they stare at each other.  Harry is wild-eyed and flushed.  Jody can’t look away from his mouth, his beautiful, smart, clever mouth, his wet, pink lips parted slightly.  He wants to spend hours nibbling at them, running his tongue along the seam and kissing him softly.  He wants to see those lips stretched around his cock.

“Inside,” Jody chokes, tearing himself away from Harry and fumbling for his keys.  Harry grabs his backpack hastily and follows him into the dark apartment, dropping his bag on the floor as they walk into Jody’s living room.

Jody spins around and grabs Harry again, pulling him flush against his body.  Harry moans, rubbing his stiffening cock against Jody’s thigh.  Jody imagines letting him get off that way, thinks about laying him out on his bed and telling him to touch himself while Jody watches.   _Maybe later_ , he thinks, pointedly ignoring the unsettling question about what on earth comes after this terrible, misguided choice they’ve - he’s - just made.

“Take off your clothes,” Jody says instead, watching Harry’s pupils dilate.  Harry nods and pulls away, undressing so quickly it’s almost comical.  Jody pulls off his own shirt and shoes and sits on the couch, legs spread.  He palms his cock through his running shorts - painfully hard, which is almost embarrassing given he hasn’t even touched it yet - and watches Harry finish undressing before coming to stand in front of him.

“Have you done this before?” Jody asks, knowing how cruel it is to ask this once Harry is already standing before him, naked and vulnerable.  

Harry blushes and looks down.  “No,” he says softly.  Jody, who needs no more proof that he’s a terrible person, feels his cock twitch.  “I mean, I’ve done some stuff, just not - “ Harry waves his hand vaguely between them.  “Not naked stuff.”

Jody closes his eyes and wraps his hand around his clothed cock.  “God,” he says, but he’s already made up his mind.  He opens his eyes and looks at Harry.  “Come here,” he says.

Harry walks forward.  When he’s close enough, Jody grabs his hand and pulls him to straddle his lap, one leg on either side.  Jody runs his hands up Harry’s sides, his thumbs rubbing over his small, dark nipples, ghosting his fingers over the dark hair on his chest and stomach.  Jody runs his hand down Harry's stomach and delights in watching his muscles jump.

Harry whimpers, rolls his hips up as if trying to make contact with Jody’s hand.  “Shh,” Jody says, skating his hand down Harry’s back and grazing his ass.  “All in good time.”

And Harry, delightful, obedient, brilliant Harry, nods instantly and settles against Jody, pressing his face into his neck.  Jody squeezes Harry’s ass, letting him rock against Jody’s stomach for a moment, before pushing him up again.  Keeping his eyes on Harry’s face ( _eyes blown, lips parted, cheeks pink_ ) he takes Harry’s cock in hand and begins to stroke.  Harry’s eyes fall shut.  Jody wants to take a picture of this moment and keep it for himself forever - Harry, head tipped back, awash in pleasure, melting under Jody’s hands.

Jody moves his hand on Harry’s dick in firm, steady strokes, base to shaft.  His other hand slides up Harry’s stomach and chest, grabbing him by the neck and drawing him in.  His eyes dance from Harry’s eyes to his lips to his cock, disappearing into Jody’s fist with each stroke.

He can feel when Harry is close.  He's whimpering, one hand clenched on Jody’s bicep and the other gripping a handful of Jody’s hair.  His hips begin rocking erratically, desperately, pumping into Jody’s fist.  Harry presses his face back into Jody’s neck as he comes with a sob, his hips jerking.  “Good, good,” Jody murmurs, smoothing his palm up and down Harry’s back.  “God, that was so perfect, you’re fucking beautiful.”

Harry trembles in Jody’s lap.  Jody continues to stroke Harry’s back and sides, one hand gripping the back of his neck and squeezing.  Harry relaxes instantly, so Jody keeps his hand there, a warm, firm presence as Harry stops shaking.

“You all right?” Jody says softly, pressing his lips to whatever bit of Harry he can reach ( _hairline, ear, jaw, shoulder_ ).  Harry nods and sighs, relaxing further against Jody’s chest.  Jody wraps his arms around Harry and holds him tight, so content for the moment he could almost forget how hard he is.

In the end it’s Harry who notices Jody’s dick poking out of his running shorts, Harry who scoots back off the couch, Harry who lands awkwardly on his knees in front of Jody and looks up at him, his face a shining question mark.

And so Jody, who is long past the point of caring about right or wrong (wrong, _wrong_ ), pushes his shorts down and takes himself in hand, jerking himself off slowly, his eyes fixed on Harry’s face.

“Can I - “ Harry asks hoarsely, watching the slide of Jody’s hand on his cock.  “Can I?”

“Sure,” Jody says, as if he hasn't had this exact fantasy a thousand times.  “Give me your hand.”

He takes Harry’s hand and wraps it around the base of his dick, shows him how tight to grip it and how fast to go.  “There,” he says in a pleased voice.  “That’s great, that’s so good.”  He watches the flush spread across Harry’s neck and chest, his face glowing at Jody's praise. 

Jody pulls his hands away and watches as Harry strokes up and down his cock, his eyes wondering and bright.  Jody rolls his hips, encouraging him on.  Harry turns his dark, hungry eyes up towards Jody for a moment before looking back at his fist, and then - god, _god_ \- leaning over and sucking the head of Jody’s cock into his mouth.  This moment, this image is going to be printed in his mind forever, and Jody thinks it might be worth whatever they do to him if it means he gets this one morning with Harry Enten on his knees in front of him, lips and fingers tight around his cock, pulling him rapidly to the edge of his orgasm.

“Harry,” Jody says, barely able to form words.  “Harry, _god_ , wait.”  

Harry pulls off just as Jody grabs his cock and starts to come with a groan.  Spurts of come hit Harry’s lips and chin before Jody manages to point his cock towards his own stomach.  He strokes himself through it, taking in the sight of Harry, his mouth swollen and come on his face.   _Fucking hell_ , he wonders if it’s possible to get turned on _mid-orgasm_.

Jody hasn’t even caught his breath before Harry is climbing back into his lap, fingers rubbing over the come on his face.  “C’mere,” Jody says weakly, pulling Harry down so he can kiss him, taste his own come on Harry’s cheeks and chin.

They make out for a few long minutes, maneuvering so that they’re laying down on the couch, Harry sprawled on top of Jody.  Jody squeezes Harry’s ass gently and grins up at him.  “Feeling good?” he asks.

“God, are you kidding?” Harry says, beaming down at him.  “This is the greatest day ever.”

Jody laughs, lifting his head up to claim Harry’s lips in another long kiss.  At some point they’ll have to get off this couch.  Lord knows they both need a shower, and probably some food and then...well, at some point there’s going to be a conversation.  But for now, on this couch, he can fold Harry in his arms and kiss the smile on his face and let the rest of the world fall away.


End file.
